


Lonely Roads

by MidwestChopper



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Apocalypse, Gore, Other, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwestChopper/pseuds/MidwestChopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apocalyptic drabbles about Ray after the infection hits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shoes and Hopes (both wear thin)

**Author's Note:**

> Each drabble/chapter is going to be based on an apocalyptic word or phrase, I guess we'll see how this goes.

Ray was glad he'd at least thought to wear something better than his checkered Vans. He sent a silent thanks to Ashley, who'd originally bought him some plain leather motorcycle boots for the first design of his X-Ray costume. They were holding up a lot better than his old sneakers, but the blisters had nearly been unbearable for the first few days. He'd tucked his jeans into the boots on his way out of the apartment so anything at ground level couldn't get an easy hold on the loose fabric. He'd layered a few shirts with his thickest sweatshirt on top because it saved space in his bag and kept him warm at night, when he did most of his traveling.

Tonight found him hiking the freeway out of Austin.

He hitched the strap of his shotgun up his shoulder, squared his jaw, and kept walking. Eventually, the freeway became clogged with cars and he had to take the exit, unable to maneuver between the metal frames and open doors. As he walked up the ramp, the sea of cars stretched on as far as he could see and he considered the optimism that the drivers must have had, to try to wait out the traffic jam in the hopes of getting into the government-promised safe zones in the city. Those hopes must have died screaming, just like the bodies they'd inhabited.


	2. Looted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each drabble/chapter is based on an apocalyptic word or phrase.

Ray trudged on, pausing for a second to consider the gas station up ahead, with its glass doors shattered and hanging. It must have been looted early, when the panicked drivers started looking for a way to escape the chaos of the freeway. It was probably pretty empty, but it was the first building he'd seen in his two-day trek down the highway. The once-cheerful yellow sign seemed to mock the dreary situation. Ray decided that he might as well look for anything that had been left behind by the people who'd searched it before. He drew his gun and held it close to his chest as he began his approach.

The gas pumps seemed to have been a hot target. Several had large dents that Ray guessed had come from people trying to get their cars as close as possible to block others from taking the precious gasoline first. A few nozzles lay on the ground, apparently ripped from their hoses in the fray. It was hard for him to reconcile the idea of a fighting crowd with the desolation and abandonment he saw before him. He shook the thought from his head and tried to focus. He didn't have a vehicle, the pumps wouldn't have been useful even if they weren't broken. Food and batteries were more important.

As he entered the building itself, Ray tried not to touch the doors. He couldn't afford to have them fall off their frames entirely and alert everything nearby to his presence. He quietly pulled a small LED flashlight out of his pocket and started creeping up the aisles. He'd been right, most of the good stuff was already gone. The shelves held a few open, stale bags of chips and some things that the previous looters hadn't deemed important, like travel-sized packets of aspirin and alcohol wipes. Ray grabbed both of these, stuffing them into his backpack. Under a pop display that advertised a sweepstakes, he found a box of fruit and nut bars that had seemingly been kicked aside. It was still sealed, so he figured it was worth grabbing and put it alongside the rest of his take. He let his eyes sweep over the rest of the store, but nothing else caught his eye. Still cautiously holding his gun, he dodged the edges of the doors again and made his way back into the light.


	3. Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each drabble/chapter is based on an apocalyptic word or phrase.

He'd pulled the gun off one of his neighbors on the way out of his apartment complex. Sometimes Ray felt like moving to Texas had paid off. In New York, he knew that he could snag a hand gun pretty easily, but only in Texas would he have been able to grab a semi-automatic shotgun and as much ammo as he could carry from his neighbor's place. Once he'd dispatched said neighbor with a screwdriver to his undead brain, of course.

It hadn't been his first kill, but it had definitely been one of the early ones. When Ray moved to Austin, he'd bought all new furniture and the tools he'd need to put it together (it was cheaper without the assembly fees, it seemed like a good idea at the time). Eventually he realized that he didn't know what he was doing and had called Michael and some of his other new work friends to come help him. After that, he'd left the tools in a box on a closet shelf and hadn't touched them until all of this had hit. Once he had to stock up on supplies, he thought back to all the zombie games he'd perfected and cracked open that box.

The deluxe screwdriver set ended up in the heads of the kid next door, the woman across the hall, and eventually the man two doors down who turned out to have been some kind of gun nut. Ray had found no less than three full-sized gun safes in the apartment, all unlocked with the keys from on the guy's belt and each totally full of guns and their respective ammunition. If he was being honest, the real-life stockpile of weapons gave him a rush just like an in-game cache did. So just like in the games, he picked out a nice shotgun. He didn't exactly know how to handle a real gun, but his instincts told him that a shotgun might be a little better for the pray-and-spray situation that he'd probably end up with if he ever ended up in a position to fire in the first place.

So far, he'd only fired it twice.


End file.
